In the endless night and quiet space, I lay tossing and turning, listening to the insects’ chirping; thinking about the past many years of my religious life at the Temple which was more or less full of amenities. Two meals a day, plenty of food and drink, comfy bedding, heater and air conditioner working non-stop, all things to satisfy this “self”. However, there are times that those things still do not meet the deepest passion of a monk’s soul.

For the past three days, I have felt the pain in every strain of fiber of my flesh, of my skin, as if my body was cut, stabbed, bruised, burnt, numbed. These sensations are difficult to describe. Breakfast this morning is a packet of instant noodles just like the day before. At noon, a meager meal with a much-welcomed small banana and a few stems of cilantro. We, brothers in Dhamma, sat in a garden under large and shady trees to have lunch, next to piles of cow dung. After contemplating on food and shelter, we then mindfully consumed the food. Our deep appreciation goes to the donor of this lunch; thank you very much! We are also grateful for every tree and every blade of grass. Even though they are inanimate objects, they gave us wonderful moments in the heat of afternoons.

After lunch, the Sangha rested for a while, some sat in meditation, some wrote articles, some chanted, some lay on the ground. I appreciate more the essence of such a monk’s life. Our loving-kindness goes to many monks who couldn’t keep up with the group, and arrived too late for lunch time after the foods had been put away. Such is the life of a wandering monk, traveling from place to place, and often must consume water instead of food to keep his stomach full.

After lunch, the group leader led the Sangha walking along the village road, crossing the railroad. Traveling by foot, each step of the Sangha rhythmically and peacefully followed the railroad tracks. Suddenly, the loud whistle from an approaching high-speed train shattered the tranquility. The entire group had no choice but to lose our serene composure and rush to the roadside. We innocently laughed at our behavior and continued our trek. Through paths full of red clay dust which filled the air, the earthy yellow color of our attire could soon no longer be recognized.

Throughout the long journey, the foot-traveling Sangha has attracted both boundless admiration and curiosity from local people. Some of them asked to have a photo taken with the Sangha, some asked to touch the Sangha’s hands to show their respect even though they might practice different beliefs. What wholesome seeds indeed!

May all sentient beings know of the Dhamma!

Namo Buddhāya!

Source: Dhammacetiya
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